


Two Lonely Souls

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Hogwarts Era, Romance, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-13
Updated: 2008-08-13
Packaged: 2018-10-26 12:35:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10786857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Peridot Sardonyx is Dumbledore's guest at Hogwarts.  He expected Quidditch and lunch, but as so often happens with the Hogwarts Headmaster, he got quite a bit more...





	Two Lonely Souls

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> Part Five of the "Lapis & Emerald" Series
> 
> All stories in this series can be found in the proper order under "L" in the "series" link
> 
> Beta: weetziecat
> 
> Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, while listed as characters, only appear by reference in conversation.

**Two Lonely Souls**

  
  
_Mr. Peridot Sardonyx_

_Peridot’s Fine Jewelry_

_Hogsmeadetoun Rd._

_Hogsmeade  
  
My dear Peridot,  
  
First of all allow me to say how nice it was to share time and mead with you last month. I so seldom have the opportunity to visit Hogsmeade these days, but it is always a delight to spend what little time I have there in such splendid company. As I think we both noted, we see each other far too seldom, which is nearly unforgivable considering the proximity of the school to Hogsmeade village. Knowing the fault rests with me, allow me to try to rectify the situation.  
  
I was speaking with young Ronald Weasley recently, and he mentioned that you had expressed a desire to attend a school Quidditch match. Since the Gryffindor team (on which Ronald holds the position of Keeper) will be competing this Saturday, I thought you might like to attend as my guest. You may recall from your years as a student that the teachers’ box affords a fine view, and I would be pleased if you could join me and my colleagues there.   
  
Also, if your schedule permits, I would like to invite you to lunch following the match. Actually, this could end up being dinner since, as you know, there is no way to be certain when the Snitch will be captured. However, with our Mr. Potter as the Gryffindor Seeker, I feel confident that the match will end within a reasonable amount of time.   
  
It would be a personal pleasure for me to welcome you once again to Hogwarts, and to tour the castle and grounds with you. Though little has changed since your days here, you may, perhaps, find that things look different through more experienced adult eyes. Most of the teaching staff has changed since your time here, of course, though there may be a few familiar faces besides my own. Madam Pince, whom I believe you came to know quite well in your later years, remembers you fondly (which, I assure you is quite rare), and would surely enjoy a visit. Professor Binns still teaches History of Magic, but I suspect he wouldn’t remember you. Please do not take this personally. He has a difficult enough time remembering the names of the students he is presently teaching!   
  
And so, if you are available and amenable, please respond by return of owl and I will make the necessary arrangements. If you cannot join us this Saturday, please know that, as an honoured alumnus, you are always welcome at Hogwarts.   
  
Looking forward to seeing you again, I am   
  
Your most humble servant, Albus Dumbledore_  
  
Peridot smiled as he re-read Dumbledore’s valediction, convinced that, no matter how many times he had seen others sign letters in a similar fashion, he’d never been so certain that it was true. Despite his position and reputation, Peridot was sure that Albus Dumbledore was indeed humble, and considered himself a servant, even to the students under his care. No doubt the students held a contrary opinion, but that did not change the truth of it.  
  
Considering the possible loss of income, Peridot decided quite readily that he could close his shop that coming Saturday. March was a notoriously slow month for jewelry sales, the romantic atmosphere of Valentine’s Day having long since dissipated like a morning fog. Besides, thanks to the students at Hogwarts, his late-January, early-February sales had been nothing short of a new record.   
  
Again, he wondered how much of that was due to the nervous young redhead whom he had guided through his first (Peridot was sure of this) jewelry purchase. He had no reason to doubt, and every reason to believe, that Ron Weasley had been true to his word, and had praised Peridot’s work so much that more students than ever had rung the small bell over his door. The eight Galleon discount he had offered Ron had been repaid many times over. Even if it had not been, it seemed a small price to pay just to see the look on the faces of two young men so obviously in love.   
  
“Lapis and emerald,” Peridot mused to himself as he withdrew a page of parchment from his desk drawer. Yes, he would attend Saturday’s Quidditch match, if only to see the Seeker, who had found his Keeper, and the Keeper, who would always keep his Seeker, in action. 

**~~~~~~~~~~~~**  
  
“Hello, Mr. Sardonyx.”  
  
“Good afternoon, young la –” Peridot’s perfunctory response was cut off by his own recognition of the teenage girl who had greeted him. “Oh, hello there! So nice to see you again! It’s Lavender, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” the girl nodded, clearly pleased to be remembered by name. “It’s nice to see you again.”  
  
Peridot and Dumbledore were strolling casually back towards the castle after watching the somewhat disturbing Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Peridot felt a bit traitorous for not being more enthusiastic about Hufflepuff’s victory. He had, after all, been in Hufflepuff house during his years as a student. Still, he had been disappointed that Ronald Weasley was in the hospital wing, and so unable to play Keeper, and Harry Potter had been disable (clubbed, actually) by one of his own teammates, and had to be carried from the pitch. Unable to control a groan of distress had earned Peridot an over-the-shoulder sneer from the black-robed, greasy-haired teacher sitting a row in front of him. One sympathetic look from Dumbledore, however, assured him that he hadn’t needed to suppress his disappointment.  
  
“So, how did your young man like his Christmas present?” Peridot asked, remembering how hard he had struggled to conceal his laughter when the young woman had chosen one of the most gaudy necklaces he’d ever crafted, much to his embarrassment.  
  
It had been left over from one of his first years as an apprentice to Madam Tourmaline, and had collected dust in the rear of one of his display cases for decades. Upon seeing it, Lavender had squealed like a ten year old, shrugging off Peridot’s suggestions of something less hideous. She had left the shop smiling broadly with her wrapped package firmly in hand, while Peridot merely shook his head, sure that the recipient would be appalled by the gift, or by the suggestion that he’d ever wear the words “My Sweetheart” in obscenely large gold letters dangling from his neck.  
  
Lavender looked embarrassed as her eyes flicked towards Dumbledore before she replied. “He said he liked it, but I’ve never seen him wear it.”  
  
“Perhaps he wears it beneath his robes,” Peridot smiled sympathetically. “Closer to his heart.”  
  
“Maybe,” Lavender replied, though Peridot could tell by her downcast eyes that she didn’t think this likely.  
  
“Well, as I told you at the time,” Peridot offered gently, “if you and he would like to exchange the necklace for something more to his liking, I’ll do all I can to help. It can be very difficult to know just what sort of thing a young man would like.” Truth be told, Peridot would have been only too happy to take back, and probably melt down, the offending piece, sure that its gold could be put to better use. He was sure he would have done so years before, except that his mentor had suggested he’d someday want a reminder of how far his skills had advanced, and how his sensibilities has mellowed.  
  
In his first years as a jeweler’s apprentice, Peridot had entertained much less mature feelings concerning human relationships. Despite his painful experience at Hogwarts, he still believed that proud, bold declarations of love were appropriate and even endearing. Only later did he learn that most people preferred understatement and eloquence, at least in the jewelry market, but, on Madame Tourmaline’s advice, he strove never to lose his belief in the power of romance.  
  
“No, I don’t think…” Lavender began, but it seemed her breath had hitched in her throat. Peridot could clearly see her eyes moisten, and thought he knew the rest of the story immediately, though he’d never be so crass as to say so. He glanced over to see that Dumbledore had considerately stepped away and was speaking to the Quidditch referee. “I think… I think there might be… be… somebody else.”  
  
“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry,” Peridot said sincerely, honestly afraid that his stupidity at not having destroyed the unsightly necklace years before had brought about the end of a relationship.  
  
“It’s… all right, really,” Lavender sniffed. “I sort of had a feeling it might happen. He’s always spending time with that Hermi— well, it’s not important. Besides, I guess she must have loads of gold. That ring looked really expensive.”  
  
“Ring?” It was professional curiosity more than anything else that caused Peridot to ask before he could stop himself. If a Hogwarts student had given another one a ring, Peridot naturally wondered if he had sold it.  
  
“Yeah,” Lavender nodded sadly. “Ron never takes it off, either.”  
  
 _Ron_. The implications flashed through Peridot’s mind like sparks through stubble. Certainly there could be more than one Ron at Hogwarts. It was a fairly common name, after all. And Peridot had sold a fair number of men’s rings to female Hogwarts students in recent months. There was no reason to think…  
  
“I only wish I could have gotten an emerald for him, too. It looks so nice with his ginger hair.”  
  
Evidence overpowered any lingering doubts. Peridot had sold only one man’s ring set with an emerald in the past year and a half. Admittedly, someone could have purchased such an item from another jeweler, but Peridot felt sure that Lavender’s lost love had been found by the Gryffindor Seeker.  
  
The more nurturing part of his nature wanted to tell Lavender that she could have given Ron the Gachala Emerald and it wouldn’t have made any difference. Peridot had seen enough to know that no gift, no expression of undying love, could turn the heart of one who had given that heart to another. No. Lavender, as pretty as she was, had no chance against the one who wore the ring that matched Ron’s, but for the gemstone.  
  
“I am sorry,” Peridot said again. “I wish there was some way I could help.”  
  
“Thank you,” Lavender replied, seemingly touched by Peridot’s concern. “My friends all told me I was being stupid. I guess they were right.”  
  
“Love can make you feel that way,” Peridot said, forcing his lips into a comforting smile. “Unfortunately, our hearts are never quite as clever as our friends, are they?”  
  
“No, I guess not.” Lavender smiled bravely through her tears. “You’re so kind, Mr. Sardonyx. I’m sorry I bothered you with this.”  
  
At that moment, Peridot wished that age and propriety didn’t prevent him from giving Lavender the sort of hug she seemed to need so badly. Instead, he said as warmly as he could, “I assure you, my dear, I’m not at all bothered. We can all use a sympathetic ear from time to time. You’d be amazed how many crying men I’ve consoled as they returned unaccepted engagement rings.”   
  
“Well,” Lavender chuckled wetly. “At least we never got that far.”  
  
“I have a feeling,” Peridot smiled, “that there may be more than a few young men around here who hold you in high regard. I hope you won’t let this experience blind you to other possibilities. You’re much too young to abandon all hope.”  
  
“Don’t be silly,” Lavender said, straightening up a bit and fixing him with a faux smug expression. “Loads of boys have asked me out.”  
  
“As I suspected,” Peridot nodded knowingly. “Give yourself a gift and let them fight over you a bit. You’ve earned it.” This time, Peridot was rewarded with a full, sincere laugh from the spurned girl.  
  
“But next time,” Lavender assured him, “I’ll listen to you before I buy a necklace.”  
  
“Now, now,” Peridot chuckled in turn. “That was your first time, and first times can be both terrifying and exhilarating. But I promise that I’ll be a bit more forceful should your eyes light on anything less than perfect in my shop.”  
  
“Well, Peridot, can I tear you away from Miss Brown for a spot of lunch?” Dumbledore had reappeared at what Peridot could only consider the perfect moment.  
  
“Oh, I’m sorry, Professor,” Lavender said meekly. “I didn’t mean to keep Mr. Sardonyx from his lunch.”  
  
“Stuff and nonsense,” Peridot said firmly. “I thoroughly enjoyed our chat, and I hope to see you again soon. Just be sure to let any appropriate parties know that I pride myself on my custom-made engagement rings and wedding bands.”  
  
Lavender giggled as she bid the pair farewell and ran towards the castle.  
  
“I haven’t seen her look so buoyant in a month,” Dumbledore mused. “We should have you visit more often.”  
  
“I doubt I did much for her,” Peridot sighed, though he did appreciate how lightly Lavender seemed to move, as if she had shrugged off some heavy burden. “There’s nothing quite as weighty as a broken heart.”  
  
“Very true,” Dumbledore replied as they resumed their journey to the marble stairs leading into Hogwarts castle. By now, all the students had passed them, and only a few still climbed the stairs. “If you’ll forgive my saying so, I still remember you stooping under a similar burden not all that long ago.”  
  
“You’re forgiven,” Peridot replied seriously. Oddly, he didn’t mind being reminded of the pain he had endured back in his sixth year as a student. Through that pain he had grown stronger and, he believed, his capacity for understanding and compassion had been forged in its crucible. While he would have gladly foregone the circumstances, he could never regret the lessons learned. “I only wish that there had been someone there at the time I could have…”  
  
“Yes,” Dumbledore said quietly. “It can be so difficult at that age, not certain who will understand without judging. So often I have to restrain myself from intruding into a student’s feelings, knowing how badly he needs to speak of them, but at the same time feeling as if he is alone, as if nobody could truly understand. Then I remember that I am the Headmaster, and so it is unlikely that any student would feel free to confide in me.”  
  
“More’s the pity,” Peridot sighed, feeling that Dumbledore had unfathomable ability, not only to understand, but also to advise anyone on the circuitousness course of the human heart. “Then again, find me the teenager who thinks we old folk know anything about love.”  
  
“Peridot,” Dumbledore said in a voice that clearly indicated a change of subject, “would you mind dining with me in my study, instead of with the rest of the school?” By that time, they had climbed the steps into school, and the sounds of hundreds of students could be heard ringing from the Great Hall.  
  
“Not at all,” Peridot replied, though not without a certain degree of trepidation. He doubted he would be missing anything the Great Hall had to show, but he wondered what was behind Dumbledore’s request.  
  
“Splendid,” Dumbledore replied. “Dobby!” With a loud crack, a house-elf appeared before them, wearing a half a dozen knit hats and an appropriate expression of servitude. “Peridot, this is Dobby, a free elf in the employ of Hogwarts.” Peridot watched a grateful smile spread across the elf’s face. A free elf? Things had surely changed since his days as a student. “Dobby, this is Mr. Peridot Sardonyx, my guest for the day.”  
  
“Pleased to meet you, Dobby,” Peridot bowed his head slightly.  
  
“Dobby is pleased to meet Master Peridot,” the elf replied, bowing from the waist to almost a right angle while his hats teetered precariously. He might be free, Peridot thought, but he still referred to wizards as “master”.  
  
“Dobby, Mr. Sardonyx and I will be lunching in my study today,” Dumbledore informed the elf. “Would you please arrange to have food brought up to us?”  
  
“Yes, Master Dumbledore,” the elf replied enthusiastically. “Dobby will see to it at once. Would Master Dumbledore like oak matured mead with lunch?”  
  
“Not necessary,” Peridot said quickly, showing the bottle that he’d been concealing in a deep pocket of his robes to Dumbledore and Dobby.  
  
“My dear man!” Dumbledore exclaimed. “I had no idea you knew me so well!”  
  
“Ah, I’m afraid the credit goes to Madam Rosmerta,” Peridot admitted. “Knowing The Three Broomsticks was your tavern of choice, it didn’t require a great deal of thought to know who to ask about your preferences. As I understand it, she keeps a stock of this particular mead in reserve just for you.”  
  
“Bless her heart,” Dumbledore chuckled. “In gratitude for your kindness, I shall ask her to allow you the occasional bottle as well. Do try not to deplete the stock, though, eh?”  
  
Peridot laughed in turn. “Well, I do enjoy a good mead from time to time, but not so much that I would leave you high and dry.”  
  
“Very good,” Dumbledore smiled. “Just the food will suffice, Dobby. Thank you.” The house-elf vanished with a crack, and Dumbledore led Peridot through the entrance hall, up several staircases and along various corridors, until they stood before a rather grotesque stone gargoyle.  
  
Until that moment, it had never occurred to Peridot that he had never been to the Headmaster’s study. Seven years he had been a student, and in all that time he’d never had cause to visit Armando Dippet, who had presided over the school all those years ago. He had, in fact, not even known how to find the entrance to the Headmaster’s quarters.  
  
“Lapis and emerald,” Dumbledore said, jerking Peridot from his nostalgic revelry. Just as he was about to ask why the Headmaster had spoken the words, the stone gargoyle came to life and jumped aside, revealing a circular stairway. At a wave from Dumbledore’s arm, Peridot began climbing the stairs, only to feel them move beneath him, rotating so that he could simply ride them upwards. When he had reached what was clearly the top of the stairs, he stepped off onto the stone landing and stood before the heavy looking oak door. In another few seconds, Dumbledore arrived and opened the door, bidding Peridot to enter.  
  
The room was circular and large, and yet there was an undeniably cozy and inviting atmosphere about the place. The house-elves had already placed a table in the center of the room, which was exquisitely set with fine china and two lit candles, and beside which stood an empty ice bucket on a stand, clearly intended for the mead Peridot had brought with him.  
  
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Dumbledore said, waving towards the table. “Despite how elegantly Dobby has arranged the room, I don’t stand on ceremony.”   
  
Only then did Peridot notice Dumbledore’s right hand, and the sight sickened him. It looked charred and dead, as if it had been held in the deepest part of a fire. Searching his memory, Peridot realized that he had not seen the Headmasters right hand until that moment. Dumbledore had not offered it when he arrived, and had, in fact, not done so a month ago in The Three Broomsticks. So disarming was his charm that Peridot had simply never noticed! Now that he had, Peridot began to wonder just how long the Headmaster had suffered with his infirmity.  
  
As if reading his thoughts, Dumbledore shook his sleeve down to cover the injured hand and said, “I see you’ve noticed my little handicap. I am sorry, and I hope it won’t put you off your food.”  
  
“N-no,” Peridot replied shakily. “How… how did..?”  
  
“Let’s just say I should have chosen my jeweler more carefully,” Dumbledore replied casually and cryptically. In a way Peridot could not explain even to himself, Dumbledore communicated through his eyes that the subject was not open to discussion. “I fear I may have spoiled our luncheon.”  
  
“Not at all,” Peridot said, struggling to smile. “In fact, I’m feeling quite peckish.” In order to give credence to his statement, Peridot removed the cork from the bottle and poured a healthy measure of mead into each of their goblets.  
  
“Good,” Dumbledore smiled in turn and sat down, this time waving his left hand at the opposite chair, inviting Peridot to sit. “I assure you our house-elves are as talented as you no doubt remember. In fact, I often feel we are quite spoiled here at Hogwarts.”  
  
As if responding to Dumbledore’s compliment, Dobby and two other elves appeared with a loud crack, all three of them laden with large platters covered by domed covers.  
  
“Dobby wasn’t sure what the masters would like, so I brought a selection,” the elf explained. The cloches were lifted to reveal a whole roasted chicken, a steaming salmon and a charger loaded with lamb chops. Each platter also held ample amounts of roasted potatoes and steamed carrots. Peridot and Dumbledore made their selections and thanked the elves, who bowed and then vanished again. As the first bite of lamb nearly melted in his mouth, Peridot couldn’t help but wonder if the Hogwarts students had been offered the same selection.  
  
“To what shall we drink?” Dumbledore asked, raising his goblet.  
  
“To Hogwarts, of course,” Peridot replied, also lifting his glass. “And to its Headmaster.”  
  
“You’re too kind,” Dumbledore smiled. “To Hogwarts.” The two men drank and savoured the taste for several moments, then Dumbledore said, “There is a reason I’ve asked you to dine privately with me, Peridot.”  
  
“Yes, Headmaster,” Peridot said noncommittally. He didn’t want to give the impression that he had somehow divined what Dumbledore had yet to say, especially since he hadn’t the foggiest notion.  
  
“Peridot,” Dumbledore smiled with real humour. “This whole meal might pass more pleasantly if you were to call me Albus. Or Dumbledore, if that would be easier.”  
  
“You have to know how difficult either would be… _Albus_ ,” Peridot chuckled. “It seemed easy enough at The Three Broomsticks, but here at Hogwarts… I was your student for seven years. It’s difficult for me to think of you as anything but my superior.”  
  
“Superior only by age and happenstance,” Dumbledore smiled indulgently. “After having watched you with Miss Brown today, I suspect _you_ are _my_ superior… in many ways.”  
  
“Hardly,” Peridot shook his head and chuckled. “I’ve never been much for reading newspapers, but in the last few weeks I’ve started taking the Daily Prophet. Your part in the fight against He Who Must Not Be Named…”  
  
“Is little understood and greatly exaggerated,” Dumbledore finished for him. “I am but a resource for the one who must ultimately and finally defeat him.”  
  
“Harry Potter,” Peridot said softly, almost as if he were uttering some good luck omen.  
  
“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded significantly. “Harry Potter. What young Harry must still learn cannot be taught by me, or any other teacher at this school. This, in fact, is why I wished to speak with you. He needs your help.”  
  
“Excuse me… Albus,” Peridot said, glancing at Dumbledore’s goblet to assure himself that there was no way the Headmaster could already be intoxicated. “I don’t understand what I could possibly do for him. Surely there are more intelligent, more powerful people…”  
  
“Who do what they can,” Dumbledore interrupted again. “The problem is that most people are very confused about what true power is, Mr. Potter among them. No, after what I saw this afternoon, I am convinced that you are in a unique position to help. You are, in fact, the only person I know of who could perform this particular service.”  
  
“Now wait just a minute, Dumbledore,” Peridot said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “I know about you and that Order of the Phoenix business. I’m just a jeweler. I’m rubbish at Charms, I’ve never learned to duel and, if you recall, _you’re_ the reason I never took a N.E.W.T. in Transfiguration! I doubt there’s much I could do against You-Know-Who.”  
  
“I would not presume to ask you to join the Order of the Phoenix, nor to take a public stand against Voldemort,” Dumbledore replied, nothing but seriousness in his face. “Not directly, at any rate. I promise that if you can assist me, there will be no repercussions. There will be no way for Voldemort or his followers to know you had done anything at all.”  
  
“Seems unlikely,” Peridot murmured mostly to himself as he raised his own goblet and took another swig of mead. “Look,” he said, lowering his glass. “It’s not that I don’t want to help. It’s just that I think there have to be people better qualified than me.”  
  
“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you, yet,” Dumbledore countered. “Once you do, I think you’ll understand why you are particularly well qualified.” Peridot held his objections while Dumbledore took a long draw from his goblet. “I confess, I didn’t realize how true that was until I witnessed your interaction with Miss Brown.”  
  
“That?” Peridot asked, feeling even more befuddled. “That was nothing! It was just…”  
  
“You being you.” For the third time, Dumbledore cut across Peridot’s arguments, quietly, softly, but definitively. “It hurts you to see others hurting. Hopefully, that is true of most people, but it runs deeper for you. I saw your face when Miss Brown was speaking to you. You weren’t simply being sympathetic, you were truly empathetic; you felt her pain.”  
  
“Anybody would do that,” Peridot said, shaking his head. “No one could see that much hurt and not want to help.”  
  
“I wish you were right,” Dumbledore sighed deeply. “But I think we both know how wrong you are.”  
  
Peridot stared across the table into Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes. It seemed unlike the Headmaster to simply come right out and say his guest was wrong. Still, there was profound understanding in those eyes, and Peridot allowed them to light the long darkened passageways of memory that he rarely allowed himself to enter any more. They lit, of course, on the face of a sixteen year old Bartholomew Stuyvesant, the first and only person for whom Peridot had ever expressed love. In the years since, he and Bartholomew had managed to repair their friendship, but Peridot hadn’t dared another attempt, despite the fact that Bartholomew was now quite publicly out of the closet.  
  
“There was a time in your own life when you sorely could have used someone like yourself, only to find yourself alone.” Dumbledore’s eyes turned downward as if to examine the fork he was turning slowly in his fingers. “And for that, I am truly sorry, Peridot.”  
  
“You?” Peridot nearly jumped to his feet in protest. “You were always kind to me. After everyone found out that I… about me, you were the only teacher in the whole school who never acted like you were judging me, or were disappointed or disgusted.”  
  
“Yes, sadly the best thing you can find to say about me is that I did nothing,” Dumbledore said contritely. “I knew you were in pain, knew you needed someone to talk to, and instead all I did was smile and say good morning each day, choosing to ignore the pain written across your face.”  
  
“It’s still more than a lot of others did,” Peridot said, trying his best to correct Dumbledore’s memory of the events from nearly a half century before. “And no matter what you think, I was grateful. I still am. And don’t think that I’ve forgotten who it was who recommended me to Madam Tourmaline.”  
  
“That was little more than a pathetic attempt to salve my own conscience,” Dumbledore was nearly mumbling by then. “It was, in the end, the very least I could do, since I had missed the opportunity to do more.”  
  
“Albus, because of you I have a career,” Peridot countered. “I have a life!”  
  
“That is due to your talent and hard work,” Dumbledore replied, a bit more strongly. “Oh, please, don’t misunderstand. I admit to having been uniquely situated to drop the right word to the right person at the right time, and I promise you that Paraiba Tourmaline has, more than once, thanked me for recommending you to her, even if you have managed to arrogate a fair share of her business in recent years.” Dumbledore’s good humour, which had just started to show again, seemed to slip a bit. “But, I say again, I regret not having been of more help to you while you were still a student of this school.”  
  
“It had nothing to do with you,” Peridot said consolingly. “What could you have done?”  
  
“I could have told you that there is nothing wrong with love; true, honest, sincere love,” Dumbledore said, guilt dripping from each syllable. “I could have told you not to allow others to make you believe your love was wrong or disordered, not even the one you loved.”  
  
“Maybe.” Peridot was willing to grant Dumbledore his regrets, but not without qualification. “But as I said before, when I was seventeen, would I really have listened to someone who was…”  
  
“Old?” Dumbledore smiled a sincere but melancholy smile. “Perhaps not. Still, I believe I had the wherewithal to make you believe I could at least understand your pain. I won’t claim that I could have relieved it, but I could have helped you bear it. I know you were not without friends, but hearing a young lady lament unrequited affections for a young man is hardly the same thing, is it?”  
  
“It helped,” Peridot shrugged, though he knew surrounding himself with a group of female friends had also made things worse, at least as far as the more homophobic students, and even teachers, had been concerned. Still, he had long ago refused himself permission to wish things had been different all those years ago. He had expressed his love for his best friend Bartholomew. He had not only been spurned, but had also been exposed. Months of near isolation, whispered conversations that stopped the moment he walked by, giggles behind his back, vulgar insults shouted across a courtyard or spat directly into his face, all dwelt in a closed room of his mind, which he kept firmly locked. Now Dumbledore was forcing that door open. “What makes you think you could have helped anyway?”  
  
“I could have told you that I understood,” Dumbledore said with heavy significance. “Not on some vague, intellectual level, but from the standpoint of experience.”  
  
The words hung in the air between them like some curious scent that had wafted in through the window. Peridot held Dumbledore’s gaze, wondering if he had correctly interpreted the Headmaster’s cryptic response.  
  
“Do you mean that you… you’re…” Though he prided himself on being able to turn a phrase, Peridot found himself at a loss for words.  
  
“Yes, Peridot,” Dumbledore smiled with wry humour. “I was not always the asexual being that you and your schoolmates presumed I must be.”  
  
“Headmaster, _please_!” Peridot said in an unintentionally pleading tone. For that moment he was seventeen again, and there were some things about his teachers he simply didn’t want to consider.  
  
“Fear not, my dear Peridot,” Dumbledore actually laughed aloud. “I have no intention of polluting your mind with images you might spend years trying to purge. My intention is simply to explain that, while I was qualified, I was also unable, or rather, unwilling, to help you for fear of exposing myself.” All jocosity fell from his voice and demeanor. “I can offer no other explanation but to say that times were different then, less… tolerant. And so, while I never added my voice to those who derided you, I did very little to defend you. In short, I was handed a responsibility and I failed miserably, and not a day has passed that I have not regretted it.”  
  
“It wasn’t your responsibility,” Peridot stressed, attempting to absolve Dumbledore of a guilt that he had apparently been carrying for some forty-five years. “You were just my Transfiguration teacher. It wasn’t your job to…”  
  
“I was a human being, watching another human being bear his agony alone,” Dumbledore replied, clearly unwilling to accept such an easy justification.  
  
“Then let me say this,” Peridot fixed Dumbledore with his most serious expression. “Albus Dumbledore, I understand, and I forgive you. Who knows? Things might have been different if you had been more forthcoming back then, but it’s a waste of time to dwell on what might have been. We all have regrets, we’ve all made what we know, or consider to be, mistakes, but there comes a time when we have to put them behind us and simply get on with our lives.” Feeling a sudden surge of gratitude, Peridot added, “And for what it’s worth, it meant the world to me that you treated me no differently once you knew. I might have been rubbish at Transfiguration, but your class was always a respite for me, a place where I knew I would only be judged on my skills, such as they were, and not on my sexuality.”  
  
“And once again, my friend, if I may call you my friend,” Dumbledore smiled gratefully, “you prove yourself my superior. Even now, though I’ve done nothing to deserve it, you cannot stand to see me hurting without doing everything in your power to help alleviate my pain. And don’t argue. Just because it comes so naturally to you doesn’t mean it isn’t a rare and precious quality.”  
  
“Well,” Peridot said, quickly turning his face down to the lamb chops that had long ago gone cold, and consciously willing the blood he knew was colouring his cheeks to recede. “You still haven’t told me why it is that you invited me here today.”  
  
“That is true,” Dumbledore replied. “I felt that my request required a context if you were to fully understand its immense importance.” Dumbledore also glanced down at the unfinished meals on the table. “In doing so, however, I fear I have disrupted a fine meal. If you like, I can ask Dobby to bring us more hot food, or perhaps a dessert.”  
  
“No, thank you,” Peridot said quickly, wanting more than anything for Dumbledore to simply make his request. “My appetite seems to have… waned.”  
  
“Yes,” Dumbledore chuckled. “I do have a way of doing that, I’m afraid. Very well, since we’ve wasted the meat on our plates, let’s get to the meat of the matter.” Peridot could almost see Dumbledore’s mind working as he tried to find just the proper words to express himself. “Did you, by chance, hear the password I used for admittance to my study?”  
  
“Of course,” Peridot answered. “Lapis and emerald.”  
  
“It’s something of a departure for me,” Dumbledore smiled. “Normally, I would choose the name of whatever particular confection I happened to fancy at the moment. Since I have a notoriously voracious sweet tooth, my choice of passwords seemed limited only by the selection at Honeydukes Sweetshop. However, I instituted the current password the day after we were so well met at The Three Broomsticks. I can’t tell you how happy I was to see you that evening, though if I had not, I would likely have come by your shop during that week. I was curious, you see, as to the origin and circumstances of the rings I had seen on Harry Potter’s and Ronald Weasley’s hands.”  
  
“Yes,” Peridot nodded. “Again, I’m sorry if I did anything wrong. I simply had no idea that the students were coming into Hogsmeade without permission, and I…”  
  
“No, no, no,” Dumbledore waved his healthy left hand. “As I told you before, that is neither your concern nor your responsibility. I assure you that matter is being addressed. After our conversation that evening, however, a number of questions had been answered, not the least of which was whether the boys had purchased the rings together or separately.”

“Is that significant?” Peridot asked.  
  
“That Ronald Weasley would walk into a jewelry shop alone and buy a man’s ring for someone else?” Dumbledore said with raised eyebrows. “Yes, I believe that’s _highly_ significant. You’d have no way of knowing, of course, but Ronald has shown great courage during his years at Hogwarts. He has faced dangers that would have bested many adult wizards, seen three members of his family attacked by Voldemort and his minions, stood face to face with his greatest fear, and risked serious injury, and even his own life, more than once. And yet, in buying a simple gold band adorned with a lapis lazuli stone, I believe Ronald Weasley showed more courage than he ever had before.”  
  
For the briefest moment, Peridot opened his mouth to ask Dumbledore what he meant, but then his first time meeting the Gryffindor Keeper played out in his mind. It was the young man’s nervousness to which Peridot had first responded, and which had led to one of the most satisfying sales of his entire career. Peridot himself had commented on the young man’s bravery, though not in so many words. Terrifying, he thought to himself. Terrifying and exhilarating.  
  
“Yes,” Peridot nodded. “I think I see what you mean. I still don’t understand what that has to do with me helping Harry Potter.”  
  
“No, you wouldn’t,” Dumbledore smiled. “Any more than you’d be aware of how much you’ve already helped. Honestly, what I’m asking of you is nothing more than you’ve already been doing. I simply want to ensure your willingness to continue.”  
  
“Headma… Profes… _Albus_!” Peridot sputtered, finding Dumbledore’s cryptic comments and hidden meaning tremendously frustrating. “I think I’ve proven that I have no idea of what you’re talking about. It would certainly help if you could just come right out and say what you’ve been hinting at all through lunch!”  
  
“I’m sorry, Peridot. You’re right, of course,” Dumbledore inclined his head contritely. “It’s just that I’ve grown so accustomed to secrecy that I forget that among those I trust it is not necessary, and is often counterproductive.” He took a long, deep breath and raised his head to look into Peridot’s eyes. “The truth then.” Peridot readied himself as best he could to hear what Dumbledore was, at last, prepared to say.  
  
“Ronald Weasley is, I think we can agree, in love with Harry Potter,” Dumbledore said in a businesslike sort of way, clearly laying a foundation. “We can safely assume, based on appearances, that that love is requited.”  
  
“Yes, I’ve no doubt you’re right,” Peridot nodded, though he stopped short of telling Dumbledore of the engravings Ron and Harry had chosen for the insides of their rings, _I’m keeping my Seeker_ ; _Done seeking my Keeper_.  
  
“While there are very few of us who actually know the particulars, there are those who have begun to suspect the truth of it.” Dumbledore’s smiled showed a hint of pride, but it soon gave way to a tightened expression of concern. “While it may be true that many are more tolerant than they were in your days as a student, it would be foolish in the extreme to presume universal acceptance of such love.”  
  
Peridot simply nodded to show he had accepted the premise.  
  
“Should rumours begin to spread,” Dumbledore continued, “young Harry and Ronald might find themselves objects of gossip, and even ridicule.” Sympathy again filled his eyes as he looked into Peridot’s, and Peridot nodded again to show he knew only too well what Dumbledore was saying. “As you so correctly pointed out, not only am I their Headmaster, I am old. No, no, I’m not overstating the fact,” he hastened to say as Peridot opened his mouth to protest. “I am, indeed, _quite_ old. While failing to die for so many years has, no doubt, brought with it a certain degree of wisdom, it has also caused me to forget much of what it’s like to be young. My age and my position make it difficult for me to lend the sort of understanding ear both or either of these young men might someday need.”  
  
Peridot took a deep breath in an attempt to give himself time to form a cogent response. Though he still wasn’t sure what Dumbledore was asking, he doubted that he could possibly be for Harry Potter and Ron Weasley whatever Dumbledore considered himself unqualified to be. As this thought churned in his mind, another, more disturbing issue rose to the surface.  
  
“Albus?” Peridot asked, trying not to sound indignant, “Is this because I’m… because _they’re_ gay? Is that what you want from me? To tell them that it’s all right to be homosexual, no matter what anyone else says?”  
  
“I didn’t…”  
  
“Because I have to tell you,” Peridot said above Dumbledore’s attempted interruption, “my own experience doesn’t exactly place me in good stead to offer such assurances! And wouldn’t you, as the Headmaster, be in a better position to help them? Wouldn’t you be able to make more people understand that, even if they can’t accept someone being gay, they have no right to judge? Couldn’t you..?” Peridot’s voice caught in his throat as he saw Dumbledore’s head dip in a gesture of obvious defeat.  
  
“I see I’ve failed to explain myself,” Dumbledore said quietly, wearily. “It has nothing to do with genders or prejudices. If Harry Potter had set his sights on some pretty young witch, I would still make the same request of you.” Looking up again, Dumbledore fixed Peridot with pleading eyes, and spoke with no small amount of desperation. “Please understand that what is at stake is larger than the petty bigotry of small minds, or the arbitrary boundaries that they so blithely impose on love. It is _love itself_ that I am asking you encourage.”  
  
So overwhelming was the urgency in Dumbledore’s voice that Peridot could not even begin to connect words in his mind to reply. Instead, he waited for Dumbledore to explain ideas that Peridot doubted his mind was large enough to comprehend.  
  
“I will admit,” Dumbledore continued with a little less emotion, “that I am pleased it is Ronald Weasley who holds such a singular place in Harry’s heart. The family in which he was raised is, quite possibly, the single most loving in all of Britain, magical or Muggle. Because of that, love comes as naturally to Ronald as breathing does to the rest of us.”  
  
“Harry, on the other hand, was raised in an atmosphere of resentment of his very presence, that most often manifested itself in neglect. I seriously doubt that the word love was one he heard often growing up, and I’m reasonably certain it was never spoken directly to him. Despite that, he has emerged from that upbringing with an incredible ability to love others, and to appreciate even the barest affection shown him in return. Still, while he might be grateful for signs of fondness, I fear he may yet have much to learn about what it is to feel _loved_ , not because he’s The Boy Who Lived, but simply because he is Harry Potter, with no grandiose qualifiers. This is what I hope he can learn from Ronald Weasley.”  
  
Peridot was flabbergasted at this insight into Harry Potter’s past. Though he knew, as did everyone else, that Harry was an orphan, he’d have never guessed that he had been raised by anyone other than doting guardians, who had done their best to prepare him for the role in which fate seemed to have cast him. The young man he knew seemed remarkably level headed, especially for one brought up in the sort of home Dumbledore described.  
  
“I had no idea,” Peridot said in barely more than a whisper.  
  
“No,” Dumbledore said almost as quietly. “It is not the sort of thing that one would find in the pages of the Daily Prophet. In fact, I’ve worked hard to keep it that way. I’m too familiar with the work of Rita Skeeter to allow her to turn Harry into an object of pity over a past which he has managed to surmount so admirably, much to his credit.”  
  
Peridot felt humbled. This remarkable person that Dumbledore described had actually been in his shop twice, and he’d had no idea of the pain that lay behind those flashing emerald eyes. All he’d seen there was hope and joy, especially when he had stood next to the boy, the _young man_ , whose lapis blue eyes reflected that joy, when they weren’t turned to the floor in embarrassment. What he’d said to both of them then seemed so trivial compared to their shared role in a war that raged even as he sat comfortably sipping mead in the Hogwarts Headmaster’s study.  
  
Yes, Peridot would help. He would do whatever his former teacher asked of him if the old man thought it was of value. But the fact remained, Peridot was simply a jeweler, regardless of whatever qualities Albus Dumbledore saw fit to attribute to him. He felt unequal to whatever the task might be, and came very close to saying so. Before he could speak, however, Dumbledore went on.  
  
“I see by your face that you understand me now, and that you doubt you can help.” Dumbledore smiled slightly. “I, however, know better. Don’t forget, I watched you counsel poor Miss Brown, and I’ve no doubt that you could do the same for the young men in question. In fact, unless I am very much mistaken, you’ve already done so.”  
  
“Have I?” Peridot asked guardedly, even a bit guiltily. “All I did was sell them rings.”  
  
“Peridot,” Dumbledore admonished, though with a chuckle in his voice. “Did you forget our discussion at The Three Broomsticks? Do you believe for even a second that Harry and Ronald could visit Hogsmeade and not be under careful scrutiny? I would be a poor Headmaster indeed if I allowed that to happen.”  
  
“Oh… yeah,” Peridot stammered, momentarily forgetting his normally formal manner in his embarrassment. “I suppose I should have informed…”  
  
“Now, let’s not start that again,” Dumbledore interrupted. “I’ve told you it’s not your responsibility, and I will tell you now that I am pleased that they sought you out again. Presuming you were your normal, understanding self, I’m sure they’ll eventually realize that you are someone they can turn to should the need arise. Perhaps, one day, they will even see you as a trusted friend, something to which I could never truly aspire.” Dumbledore sighed deeply. “Besides that, I’m afraid that the time is coming soon when they will not be able to ask my help, even if they should be so inclined.”  
  
“Why is that?” Peridot asked, hearing in Dumbledore’s cryptic statement a veiled warning of things to come.  
  
“I’m afraid I can’t elaborate on that point,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head sadly. In that moment, Peridot could clearly see a tired, old man sitting across the table, as if the weight of years and responsibility had finally begun to press fully upon him. “Suffice to say, where I am going, they cannot follow, _must_ not follow. Not yet, at any rate. Therefore, I am asking you, clearly and definitively, to simply be available to two young men who are, no doubt, struggling to sort out thoughts and feelings that are at once as terrifying as they are exhilarating.”  
  
Peridot looked at Dumbledore in shock. Could the scrutiny Harry and Ron had been under when they came to have their rings engraved have extended _into his shop_? Had someone actually been listening to what he had believed was a private conversation between him and his customers? Peridot had trouble believing such a thing of Dumbledore, however, and decided his particular choice of words was nothing more than a coincidence.  
  
“Albus,” Peridot said after several moments of silence. “I understand what you’re asking, and I can assure you that I will do my best to help Ron and Harry in any way I can.”  
  
“That you’d have done so even if I hadn’t asked, I have no doubt,” Dumbledore smiled gratefully. “I suppose all I wanted to do was stress the importance of the matter. If Harry Potter doesn’t come to understand the power of love, then I fear for him, and for all of us. I truly believe that he has much to learn from Ronald in that respect. Anything that anyone can do to encourage Harry to fully explore his emotions will be of inestimable value. And you needn’t fear Voldemort. I suspect that even _he_ would encourage your involvement in this matter.”  
  
“Vol—He Who Must Not Be Named? Encourage me helping Harry Potter?” Peridot asked incredulously.  
  
“Ah, but he wouldn’t consider it help,” Dumbledore said seriously. “He would, in fact he _does_ , consider such love a weakness rather than a strength. This, I believe, is why, ultimately, he cannot prevail. He places all his hopes in dark magic and power, having no idea what true power is. The day Harry Potter understands it is the day when he will already have defeated the greatest evil of the age.”  
  
“That’s a lot for such a young man,” Peridot said sadly, shaking his head.  
  
“Thus my request,” Dumbledore nodded in reply. “I will help him as much as I can for as long as I can. After that, it will be up to his friends, and you, to help him find within himself whatever proof he needs that love is his greatest strength.”  
  
“Might be a lot to ask of a simple jeweler,” Peridot smirked, feeling an inappropriate need to lighten the melancholy mood that had gripped them both.  
  
“My dear Peridot,” Dumbledore smiled warmly, “were you merely a simple jeweler, I assure you we would not be having this conversation. As it is, you are, in so many ways, a remarkable man whose talents are only partially expressed in gold and gemstones, though they are remarkable, as well.”  
  
“You didn’t see the horrible necklace Lavender Brown bought for Ron Weasley,” Peridot chortled dryly.  
  
“No,” Dumbledore looked interested. “That’s true, I did not. Who’s to say, however, that even that didn’t play a role? Maybe it helped Ronald to realize his heart belonged to another.”  
  
“It certainly wouldn’t have warmed his heart towards Lavender,” Peridot tried to jibe, but sympathy for the jilted young woman washed through him again.  
  
“I suspect that you were right about Miss Brown,” Dumbledore said consolingly, “and that she will soon enough be the center of another young man’s universe.”  
  
“I hope you’re right.”  
  
“I’m sure of it,” Dumbledore smiled happily now. “As you so wisely pointed out the last time we met, youth and love are a formidable combination. They will undoubtedly cause some young man to overcome his trepidation, and Ronald Weasley will be tallied as a learning experience, albeit an important one.”  
  
“He’d be difficult to forget, that’s certain,” Peridot nodded, sure that he’d never do so.  
  
“He and Harry are both quite fortunate,” Dumbledore nodded seriously. “Not only have they found one another, but they’ve found you as well.”  
  
Peridot came close to responding, to telling Dumbledore that his influence was infinitely more important than anything he himself had, or could, offer the two boys. Sure that it would just lead to another litany of his “unique talents”, however, he instead raised his goblet of mead in acceptance of the Headmaster’s kind words.   
  
As he drained his cup, Peridot considered doing some research into the possibly magical qualities of lapis lazuli and emeralds. He almost immediately dismissed the notion, however, as he dwelt on Dumbledore’s words. The stones had no inherent power. The power was inside the two wearers, and always had been. The rings might have provided a focus for it, but the power was in Ron and Harry’s love for one another. Though he couldn’t congratulate himself for that, he could still take pride in the small role he had played in helping them find it within themselves.  
  
The more he thought about it, the more Peridot realized that Dumbledore was right, love was indeed the greatest and most powerful magic of all. Deciding that this idea bore further investigation, he wondered, for the briefest moment, if maybe Bartholomew Stuyvesant would be willing to help him research the subject. 


End file.
